Perfect Love
by debatechick
Summary: This is a response to the ‘RonHermione quote!fic challenge' on Checkmated. I have quote 13:You come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly. Sam Keen.


**Summary: Ron comes back from work and an argument breaks out. This leads to arguments all around and two very angry Weasleys.**

**This is a response to the 'Ron/Hermione quote!fic challenge. I have quote #13:**

**You come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly. -- Sam Keen.**

Hermione worried the platinum band encircling her ring finger unconsciously, as she stiffly leaned back into the plush back of the subdued hued sofa. She folded her legs underneath herself and eyed the fireplace with apprehension. Anytime now.

In a rush of heat, color, and soot, she was joined by a tall red head; but not the one she had been expecting. She watched him brush the lingering remnants of flooing off himself, before meeting her surprised gaze with a melodic laugh, and simple shrug.

"Ginny was _about _to come. Then at the last minute mum took hold of the situation and deemed her unfit for council. What do Mr. and Mrs. Happily-ever-after know about marriage rows?" After a quick cleaning spell, Bill joined her on the couch.

Hermione sighed trying to cover up her agitation. Knowing seven other people were constantly being updated to what was happening in _their _household was stressful enough to earn her a spot next to Lockheart, but to blatantly shove it in her face by sending someone over?

"Yea, that's about my feeling on the matter," said Bill, intelligently interpreted her sigh, "He's a bloody coward for coming over, trying to get support from mum. I'm sure Charlie's going to give him an earful on _that_ when he hears."

Bill eyed her critically, taking in her rigid posture and trepidation. A few noiseless minutes ticked by, and the silence became almost a tangential barrier between them.

"So, what happened?" Bill finally asked softly.

"I'm sure you already got a full report," Hermione said a little too quick to exactly be considered polite.

"Don't be too sure. He tried, that's for sure. But not only is it apparent he's being an arse, he also interrupted, from what I must assess from some of Ginny's admirably loud rant, a fairly enjoyable evening."

"Yuck," iterated Hermione disagreeably.

"We are filled with shared morals." He waited patiently for her to begin.

"It's stupid," She finally declared, folding her arms around herself.

Bill looked thoughtful for a moment then declared, "It usually is."

"He said nine. _He_ said it, not me. He says nine; I think he's going to be home by nine," Hermione quickly gushed.

"Fairly reasonable." Bill nodded encouragingly.

"And it's not as though _him_ coming home late, is the same thing as you and_ I_ getting out late," continued Hermione indignantly.

"That's true."

"So by ten; I was a wreck. With the ferret's escape and all the animosity and past between them…" Hermione let the sentence finish by itself.

"I believe that's what sparked the 'enjoyable' part of the evening at the Potter's…" Bill added helpfully.

Hermione laughed bitterly. "I was sitting right here, pulling my hair out. He comes in all-- well; did you end up seeing him?"

"No. Mum just flooed me to come over."

"Oh. Well… he and Harry must have found something. I rushed over, just… saying how worried I was…" Hermione looked away from Bill, upset, and clutched her arms around herself more.

Hermione shook her head slightly, because she didn't want to get this upset around him.

"He misinterpreted it." Bill realized softly a few moments latter.

Hermione jerked her head into a nod quickly. "He interprets it as I don't think he can do his job."

The silence permeated the room again, each party rapt in their own perspective.

"No, this is absolutely ridiculous." Bill suddenly stood up.

"Bill, he's not going to believe you any more then me." Hermione stood up after him.

"He doesn't have a choice. He's insecurities are tearing _you_ apart-."

Hermione waved her hand. "That's not what I'm worried about."

Bill opened his mouth, words about to fall out, then closed it, and simply turned to the fireplace. "I should be back soon. Why don't you at least try to go to sleep? If I don't bring him round, someone else will hit his thick scull hard enough."

Hermione laughed nervously, then emulated the stance she had been in before, as if no conversation had ever taken place.

Why couldn't he be right for once? Just once in his bloody life know something nobody else did. Figure out something first. It didn't have to be mind blowing, just something; _anything_. Or even if he couldn't have some mythical unexplored piece of perceptive knowledge, why did he always have to be so _dead wrong_?

Ronald Weasley squeezed his eyes together tightly as the floo through him back to where he belonged. He distractingly tried to brush himself off, and then looked ominously around, ready to confront a high strung and exhausted brown haired witch.

His eyes fell eventually to the tanned lounge chair currently holding his wife. He walked over, studying her with the same slight fascination and engrossment as usual. Her arms were wound tight around her legs, two smooth limbs poking unceremoniously out of the soft pastel bathrobe cloaking her. Her head fell to the side slightly against the arm of the sofa, and her frizzy hair encircled her head like a feathery pillow. His mouth curled up observing that her mouth hung open in sleep.

He kneeled in front of her debating whether to wake her up here, or just let her have a few precious hours of slumber, and carry her to their room. He could almost feel her curves pressed up against his as he imagined carrying her. A stray strand fell over her face, and he automatically tucked it back behind her ear.

"Hey," He announced stupidly as he watched her eyes slowly open.

He cursed himself as he saw her face contorted with a look known to him by now. He was stupid. She was stupid. A person would have to be to marry him.

"Don't." He looked up at her, at the sound of her voice, and broke himself off from his self loathing speech he was currently preparing.

She stood up as she held her hand out after uttering that statement. He stood up as well, slightly confused. He watched her wrap her arms around herself, and became irrationally jealous that it wasn't _his_ arms around her. He settled for touching her forearms, which he gripped candidly. He waited for her to meet his eyes.

"I don't want to hear what your brother convinced you to say," She said finally.

Ron opened his mouth momentarily, and then promptly closed it when he realized this wasn't a direction of conversation that he had prepared for. His brow narrowed as he though of something to counter with. He didn't really want to yell. He realized that as soon as he flooed to the Burrow, though by then it was a little too late. He just wanted to go to bed next to his wife. He wondered what he would have to do to reach that course of events. Couldn't he just fast forward? He usually couldn't compete with her logic under normal circumstances, and a twenty hour stake out did _not_ increase his odds.

"I'm going to bed." She pushed him off halfheartedly, and he stood shocked watching her back.

A few moments latter he snapped into action and jogged stiffly after her, coming quickly to terms that he had just been in the middle of a decent spell and fist fight. He caught her after she had already made it to their room.

"Stop," He urged her slightly.

"Stop, Ron? Stop what? Stop waiting up for you, sick with worry? Stop caring? Stop agreeing to all your mutilated attempts at apologies, when you finally realize your being a prat? Because that's where I am right now."

"You don't have to worry! That's what I'm telling you! I can take care of myself; you can trust me."

"It has nothing to do with trust."

"No? What does it have to do with, then? Because I'm pretty sure I trust you to go work your bloody banking job with all those stupid goblins and …_stuff_. Stuff you can't even tell me about. What about_ that_?" Ron voice rose as he realized he was starting to latch on to a legitimate argument, "I at least tell you what happens during my day. You can't even tell me that. I have to guess at all the dangerous stuff your work throws you into. You don't see me crying when you get home late."

"Yea, my job _so_ dangerous," Hermione mocked angrily.

"Well how would I know?"

"I can't tell you! It's against the law! Just like it's against the law for you to tell me most of what you do! I know it's dangerous because you come home _bleeding_ with broken _bones_. That's not precisely the definition of a safe working environment."

"Yea, well—you could just heal yourself before you come home."

Ron frowned after he said it, realizing it was a very weak response. There was no way it was possibly going to hold up. She laughed. That wasn't a good sign. His defense was _laughable_.

"That's rich, coming from the person whom is accusing people of not _trusting_ him."

Ron sighed, acknowledging it was a fairly decent response. He had nothing. He had lost before he even had started, really. All he wanted was a kick of some cheep alcohol, a bed, and Hermione wrapped around him. Again, he tried to piece together in his head the quickest way of reaching this outcome. Save this _serious_ discussion for another day.

"Could we just go to bed?" Ron asked pleading looking into her eyes.

It was instantaneously apparent that this was not the correct thing to say.

"Sure Ron, we'll just lie down and pretend everything is _fine_."

Seriously though, that sounded like a fine idea. He could almost pretend she wasn't being sarcastic actually. _Almost_. It was becoming increasingly blatant that no soft words or kisses were going to solve this argument. And pity _that_. That was a very good way of solving things. His favorite, truth be told.

"I don't know what you want from me. I don't know what I can say. I'm _sorry_, though I guess that's not good enough."

"Shockingly enough, your older brother's apology is not going to make everything better suddenly."

"I don't see Bill here. He talked to you too, you know. Just because a bloke says something to another, doesn't mean he just goes off and repeats what he said verbatim because some guy said so. I realized I was wrong. That's all I have Hermione. I wish I could rewind and come through the floo again, and just kiss you and collapse in bed, but I can't do that. I'm not perfect."

She smiled slightly, and he knew he was in trouble.

"I didn't ask you to be perfect. I asked for you to love me enough to not assume I don't have faith in your abilities and to love yourself enough to realize the same exact thing. Never perfect, Ron. Love's not about that. You come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly. I thought that's what we had."

"We do," whispered Ron insistently.

"Then why do you get so angry with me for caring about you?"

He saw that her eyes were magnified with tears, and he felt a lump in his throat. He wasn't capable of speaking any more. Ron simply shook his head slightly in response, and shrugged, as he let his hands rest languorously on her hips. He closed his eyes and breathed her in. He breathed in _everything_ about her; from her soft sweet smell, all the way to her intelligence, to her unwavering support and loyalty. The feeling of his skin against hers, even though some people would argue you couldn't really feel that much simply touching her hips with his hands; but he knew you could. No matter how many times they fell into these situations, it felt like a miracle was happening just for him, every single time. He kissed her forehead whispering the same two worded apology over and over again.

"Okay, I get it." Hermione wisped almost wordlessly.

"Yea?"

"Yea."

He searched her eyes and waited for the familiar mocha gleam to take hold. When he found it, his lips curled up automatically. A laugh spluttered out of him. They were good.

"I still affirm the bed is a _very_ good idea," Ron declared.

He watched the smile take over her entire face, "I think that would work out."

"Yea?" Ron could almost not believe how they had worked themselves out, how they always could.

"Yup," Hermione agreed happily again.

They collapsed next to each other. It was a miracle in itself they didn't fall victim to slumber instantly.


End file.
